


tis the season

by geralehane



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21892000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geralehane/pseuds/geralehane
Summary: the clexmas19 drabbles!
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 25
Kudos: 215





	1. winter wonderland

First thing she notices is _white._ A lot of white all around her. She does a quick scan of the atmosphere outside her pod, and the system determines it’s not harmful, so she opens the capsule and stumbles out. 

Second thing she notices is _cold_. It’s not freezing, but it’s pleasantly cool, and she draws in a deep breath, finding that she enjoys the freshness of the crisp air. This planet must be young. She looks around, taking in the stunning scenery – tall trees and the ground covered in white and the deep blue of the sky and the _stars;_ so many stars twinkling above. 

_I made it,_ she thinks disbelievingly, and lets out a sharp, loud laugh. Her head is increasingly dizzy and the exhaustion seeps into her bones, but it’s not a bad feeling. She just needs to rest. _Badly,_ she realizes as she sways and has to grab onto her pod to keep steady.

Third thing she notices – or, rather, the third thing that notices her is a figure bundled up in thick coats gaping at her in shock. 

“Holy shit,” the figure whispers in Earth English, and then everything goes black. 

//

The figure’s name is Clarke, and her eyes are the impossibly blue color of the Earth’s sky. She crashed in the woods near the town she lives in. Right before _Christmas_ , as she tells her. 

“You’re not gonna try to take over the world, right? Or, like – lay your eggs in my stomach or some other weird alien shit,” Clarke cautiously implores after she comes to on her couch and they exchange greetings and introductions. 

Lexa blinks. “Will you believe me if I say no?” She can’t help but quip, and Clarke lets out a nervous giggle. 

“I guess I will have to take your word for it.”

She spends the night telling Clarke everything about herself and the world that no longer exists.

//

They quickly figure out that Lexa’s very different on this planet. “It never happened back home,” Lexa tells her apologetically as they survey the remains of the coffee table she accidentally broke with a mere push. “It must be the yellow sun radiation.” 

“The sun is giving you superpowers,” Clarke states, incredulous. At Lexa’s nod, she blinks. “Cool. Cool cool cool. We gotta test that.” 

//

“You can fucking _fly_?!” 

“I couldn’t before!” Lexa yells back, equally awestruck. “I love this planet.” 

“Okay.” Clarke’s blonde hair gets in her eyes as she hastily takes off her hat, and she pushes it back, impatiently. “Please don’t take over it.”

Lexa decides not to dignify that with a response, instead swooping down to grab Clarke – who weights _nothing_ to her - and float around with a laughing girl in her arms.

//

Snow, Lexa decides, is the most amazing thing. They never had it back home. Perhaps, centuries, a millennia ago, when the planet wasn’t dying and still had an actual ecosystem, but Lexa’s never witnessed it in person. 

She spends the next morning wandering around and touching it, listening to the way it crunches under her boots. If Clarke finds it weird, she doesn’t say anything. 

“Can’t believe I’m about to say this in an actual conversation, but – do you want to build a snowman?” she asks her from the porch, and Lexa tilts her head to the right, processing her words. 

“A snowman?” she echoes. Clarke’s smile is nothing but pure excitement. 

“Oh, this is gonna be so much fun.” 

Several hours later Lexa’s built a small snowman army in Clarke’s backyard with the help of her lightning speed. “Alright,” Clarke says. “I think you’re ready to discover the concept of a snowball fight.” 

Lexa’s not so sure after she explains it to her. “What if I hurt you?” 

Clarke only shrugs. “Let’s call it your control training, then.” And she’s right. It only takes a couple of broken tree branches and one rather impressive hole in Clarke’s fence to figure out just how much strength is needed to be human-appropriate, and in an hour Clarke and her are flinging snowballs back and forth. 

// 

“This is a hot chocolate,” Clarke announces, and at this point Lexa’s positive she’s actually died on her journey and this is her meeting the Creator. She tells Clarke as much. 

Her savior grins. “Boy, you’re not ready for cinnamon rolls.” 

Turns out she’s very much not. Once she’s over the initial shock from the sheer perfection of the baked goods, she devours most of them, barely leaving Clarke with two and guiltily asking if they could make more. 

“Figures you’d have super metabolism, too,” Clarke grumbles, but it’s with a smile. 

Lexa remembers something, then, and nudges her in the middle of baking. “Clarke? What is Christmas? You said it was soon.” 

“Oh.” Clarke stiffens, then, barely noticeable to a human’s eye. Which Lexa isn’t. “It’s – a holiday.” 

“A holiday? Like a celebration?” At Clarke’s nod, she jumps up with excitement, floating for several seconds. “I like those! We didn’t have much back home, but – the concept is alluring.” 

Clarke seems to be mulling something over while Lexa bombards her with more questions, and then, winning some sort of an internal battle, she grasps Lexa’s wrist. “Come on. I’m gonna need your help in the attic.” 

//

They are in the middle of decorating the spiky tree when Lexa conversationally asks if Clarke’s mated. Superpowers – and super reflexes – come in handy, then, because Clarke immediately loses her already precarious balance and tumbles down from a chair, stopped mere inches from the ground by a floating Lexa. 

“I, wow. Okay.” Clarke’s suddenly flustered and her gaze lands anywhere but on Lexa. “What?” 

“Do you have a mate,” Lexa repeats quietly, because – she’s still only vaguely familiar with Earthly customs and perhaps she’s just greatly offended Clarke by asking that question? Except Clarke doesn’t look very offended. 

“A mate – we don’t, um.” Blue eyes are wide with leftover shock, but there’s mirth starting to sparkle in them, too. “We don’t really have that concept of mating anymore. We do have marriages. Which – I’m not married. Or currently dating anyone, even.” 

“Dating,” Lexa slowly pronounces, and Clarke blinks before something like resolve settles over her features and she gently guides them to the couch. 

“Okay. So.” 

// 

After a detailed explanation of Earth’s courtship customs, Lexa nods and slides to her knee, only faltering when she notices Clarke’s horrified expression. “Uh – would you, um, would you like to go on a date with me?” 

“Jesus fucking – okay,” Clarke breathes, then, and practically hauls her up, making her sit back on the couch. “You don’t have to get on one knee when you ask a person out. Just marriage. And people don’t get married after two days of knowing each other. Well,” she grimaces. “Some do, but – just, don’t do that. Marriage is definitely not on the table.” 

Lexa nods. “And a date is?” 

“Again. It’s been _two days_.” 

She shrugs. “Back home, we had a mate assigned to us through an algorithm. Sometimes you’ve never even met them before the system determined you were mates.” But knowing is definitely better, Lexa thinks. If only to solidify the decision. Two days with Clarke, and she already feels way behind. 

“Were you… did you have a mate, then? You look… old enough. Wait.” Clarke’s horrified again for what seems to be a different reason. “How old are you, exactly? You’re not a child in your years, right? Right?!” 

Lexa assures her she is definitely not a child, which seems to calm Clarke significantly. “And – no. I chose to wait before my career was stable enough and my place in the community was strong. I do not come from a wealthy family, nor a respected one. I wanted to make sure I was worthy of my mate.” 

“Oh,” Clarke sighs, then, and Lexa thinks she must have said something right without even meaning to, because next thing she knows she’s wrapped up in a tight hug. “Lexa. You don’t have to prove you’re worthy. You just… you’re you,” she whispers clumsily. 

“I am me now,” Lexa clarifies, a little confused but mostly glad. “Does that mean you will go on a _date_ with me?” 

Clarke’s amused laugh isn’t really an answer but Lexa’s okay with settling for that now. 

// 

The next day, it snows. She runs around with the white flakes and laughs and catches them on her tongue, reveling in the fresh, crisp taste of frozen water. Clarke mostly watches from the porch and laughs, but she doesn’t protest when Lexa drags her out into the snow and occasionally flies them, low enough so no one can see. 

“Thank you,” Clarke tells her, much later, as they finish with _decorating_ and all the cooking and Lexa proclaims she’s never ever leaving this planet after she scarfs down several helpings of roasted chicken and gravy. They are about to watch something called _A Charlie Brown Christmas_ and Lexa feels like she’s never felt before in the comfort of Clarke’s small living room under a blanket that smells like her. 

“Thank you for what?” 

Clarke smiles, but it’s sad. “I don’t know if you remember this, but I told you Christmas is a family holiday. And, as you can see, it’s only you and me tonight.” 

“Oh.” Lexa’s eyes light up. “So we’re a family?” 

“No, you dork – well,” Clarke bites her lower lip in thought before her smile becomes a little less sad. “Maybe. Seems like it, doesn’t it? What I meant, though, is that I wasn’t planning on celebrating this year. And I haven’t… haven’t really celebrated for a couple of years now. I didn’t see the point,” she barks out a sudden, bitter-sounding laugh that makes Lexa flinch. “And then you literally fell from the sky and had no idea about, well, anything – I mean, you practically asked me to marry you on day two.” 

“I am not living that one down, am I,” Lexa deadpans, and much to her delight, Clarke laughs. 

“Absolutely not. But what I’m saying is…” her hand is warm on Lexa’s. Comforting. “You gave me a reason to celebrate. And, in your own weird, cute, alien way reminded me how fun this can be. So.” She entwines their fingers together, and Lexa’s heart about stops in her chest. “Thank you.” 

They are slowly leaning in when Lexa fidgets and decides she shouldn’t push her luck by _not_ asking first, so: “It _would_ be appropriate to kiss you now, correct?” 

And Clarke scoffs and rolls her eyes in that special endearing way and mutters _too fucking cute_ and finally, finally presses their lips together; and yeah, Lexa’s never ever leaving this planet as long as Clarke’s on it. 


	2. cocktails and candy canes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which lexa’s not so useless and clarke just wants to get sloshed.

A fifty is slammed on the bar, and Lexa blinks as she focuses on it and the hand it’s cramped under. _It’s a cute hand_ , she thinks, before scowling at herself. _If there ever was a time I felt like the epitome of a useless lesbian…_

“I want the Kennedy package,” the owner of the hand announces. Lexa lets her gaze travel up, to a leather-clad forearm and carelessly tousled blonde locks, and then their eyes meet and she just about dies. 

_Useless lesbian,_ her inner voice gleefully announces. _But – blue,_ she helplessly thinks back. Her conscience stays silent, most probably marveling at her idiocy. 

She clears her throat and wipes down the bar, out of idleness rather than real necessity. “You want – the Kennedy package.” 

“What I said, wasn’t it?” the girl snaps at her. Before Lexa can react in any way, her blue eyes widen with shock. “I – I’m sorry. I’m not usually that rude. It’s just been a _day_ ,” she sighs, plopping onto a chair. 

“Well, I _am_ a bartender,” Lexa says, then, and silently congratulates herself on getting her mouth to cooperate with her brain and producing an actual sentence. A _smooth_ sentence, no less. “Here to listen to your story and provide meaningful advice. I’m not too hot on that front, though. Also – what’s a Kennedy package?” 

The girl’s eyes widen again at that. “You don’t know what a Kennedy package is?” When Lexa shakes her head, she squints. “I had a feeling it was something they made up. Sorry,” she apologizes again at Lexa’s inquiring look. “I binged _How I Met Your Mother_ this week. They had this thing where Lily pays a bartender and goes _if you see me with an empty glass, refill it_ or something like that – honestly, I don’t even remember because, you know. I binged it in a week. Details get muddy.” 

“Certainly. Never watched it, heard it was fun,” Lexa tells her conversationally. “I could do Kennedy package. At,” she glances at her watch, “4 pm on a Tuesday. Wow. Wanna tell me what’s up?” 

The girl smiles for the first time, then, and Lexa just knows she’s doomed. “Get me drunk first.” 

*** 

Her name is Clarke, and she’s completely disillusioned with life. Or so she tells her, at least, as she’s working through her second gin and tonic. 

“It’s not really that bad,” she says as she finishes her drink. “It’s just all those little things piling up, you know?” 

Lexa really does, so she nods. “Refill?” she nods at Clarke’s empty glass. “Same thing, or…?” 

The girl shrugs. “I don’t know. Surprise me. Maybe make it Christmas-y, since ‘tis the season and all that.” Her grin is quick and sharp and filled with something painful. “Not that I’m celebrating this year, as you can tell.” 

“I’d say you got a head start on celebrations, actually,” Lexa attempts to joke. It’s probably the alcohol, but it _does_ make Clarke smile. “You never did tell me what happened. If you want to, of course.” 

She watches her sigh and catches the empty glass she slides her way. “What didn’t? Wow, that was dramatic. Sorry.” 

“You keep apologizing,” Lexa notes lightly as she gets to work, thoughtfully browsing through her shelves for the ingredients for Clarke’s cocktail. She’s not exactly running a fancy bar, but the essentials are there, and she’s grateful for a little break from usual jack and cokes. 

“Yeah. I kind of still feel a little guilty I snapped at you earlier,” Clarke admits. Lexa only hums as the cocktail comes together. She quickly checks if she’s got everything needed. _White chocolate liqueur, vodka, peppermint schnapps, and heavy cream. Perfect._

“There’s no need. I understand bad days,” she tells her guest as she mixes the liquids together in a shaker and tops it off with ice. Consumed with her preparations, she almost misses the transfixed look Clarke’s giving her. Almost. “So – your story?” 

“Right.” The blonde clears her throat and glances away with a blush. Which – again, probably the alcohol. “Where do I even start? First, a project I was working on got shut down. Then, because the project is no more, I went home and found my boyfriend cheating on me.” 

Lexa stills her movements, wincing. “That’s rough,” she offers, apologetically. There is a short sting of disappointment, but it’s quickly replaced with sympathy. When Clarke said it’s been a day, she wasn’t kidding. 

“Yeah. Thanks.” She starts pouring the freshly-made cocktail into a martini glass in-between stealing glances at the blonde who’s watching her with unconcealed curiosity. “What’s that?” 

“Peppermintini,” Lexa announces proudly with a grin before gently sliding it over to Clarke. “Oh! Here,” she reached under the bar and comes up with a candy cane. Blue eyes twinkle with an amused smile when she places it in the glass. “A finishing Christmas touch. Also, your boyfriend is a dick. I hope you know you deserve better.” 

“How do _you_ know that I do?” Clarke inquires, squinting at her over the rim. “Maybe I’m a giant bitch.” 

She shrugs. The answer is easy enough. “No one deserves being cheated on, no matter who they are. Not a great thing to go through.” 

“No kidding,” Clarke mutters as she fiddles with the stem of her glass. “I wanted to break up with him for weeks now, but it _still_ stung. Even though I was ready to let him go. Why is that?” She lets her head drop onto the bar, then, clearly not expecting Lexa to answer. “I kind of hate today,” comes a muffled groan from where she’s tucked her face in the crook of her elbow. 

Lexa chuckles. “Can’t say I relate,” she tells her. “I mean, I met you.” 

“True.” The blonde looks up, a crinkle between her eyebrows as she muses something. “I did meet you, too. Today sucks just a little less.” 

She takes a sip of her cocktail, then, and her expression changes from thoughtful to astonished so rapidly Lexa’s half-sure she’s a cartoon character. “Holy – you’re a wizard,” she says, completely serious. “A cocktail wizard.” 

“That sounds a little sad,” Lexa says, trying not to preen too openly under Clarke’s admiring gaze. 

“This is amazing,” she lets her know in a hushed tone. “I need more. Of different ones, too. What else can you make? Can all of them come with candy canes? It was corny but now I kind of love it.” 

“Oh, then you’ll love me,” Lexa states confidently, and _of course_ she has to go and say something like that. She’s surprised it took her this long to ride a train to Awkwardville. 

But – and, again, must be the alcohol – all Clarke does is laugh, shrug, and send her a ridiculous over-the-top wink clearly meant to be that way. “Well, I _am_ back on the market. Keep these coming, and we’ll see.” 

“Just so you know,” Lexa says, because she feels like this needs to be said, no matter how potentially foot-munching it might be, “I will not be accompanying you home while you’re drunk. So we’re clear. Not that I’m assuming you want me to – I mean, I just wanted to clarify! So you don’t think I might take advantage, or…” It’s times like this she really misses wearing glasses, because fumbling with them was a great way of lowering her anxiety and deflecting. Now, she grabs the nearby object – which just happens to be a corkscrew – and nearly yelps when she jams the sharp end in her thumb. 

_Smooth._

Clarke appears completely unfazed as she watches her mini-meltdown take place in front of her. “I appreciate the clarification,” she tells her, mirth clear in her voice. “Guess I’m coming back here tomorrow, then.” 

Several cocktails later, Clarke crawls out of the bar with the help of her friend Raven and with Lexa’s number saved in her phone. 


	3. christmas carols

It doesn’t take too long for Lexa to realize something is terribly wrong. First, she wakes up from a particularly vivid dream-rendition of A Christmas Carol where the ghosts of past, future, and present – all suspiciously looking like Raven – gleefully demonstrate how awful her life might turn out if she doesn’t get excited about Christmas (and, strangely, about the new _Cats_ movie, which is worrying in and of itself). Then she discovered that someone incredibly dedicated to giving her diabetes has swapped all the products in her fridge and on her shelves with candy canes. And other various vaguely Christmas-themed candy. Which could be a simple prank that _reeked_ of Raven’s usual shenanigans, and it’s not like it would’ve taken the resident witch any effort to pull this off. Lexa isn’t well-versed in magic, but she’s sure something like this is a matter of Raven merely snapping her fingers.

Raven, however, informs her that it’s not, in fact, that simple. “I would have to spend about an hour that I don’t have,” she tells her over the phone, unusually grumpy. Lexa glances at the clock and winces. “An hour that I’d rather spend _sleeping in_. Is the concept of weekend that foreign to you?”

“Slayers don’t get days off,” she reminds her.

Raven scoffs and promptly hangs up, so Lexa decides to try her luck again at a more reasonable hour. She’s about ninety percent sure it’s the witch. Another ten percent goes to her fellow slayer who’s definitely sleeping in right now and it would be no use even attempting to have a conversation with her before noon. She sighs. It’s not really a matter of life or death, so she settles on simply getting ready for the day and having breakfast at a diner. A decision she makes after discovering spaghetti drenched in chocolate sauce in one of the pots.

_Sick even for you, Reyes,_ she thinks with a shudder and heads to the bathroom for a quick shower.

* * *

Okay, so maybe it takes her a good hour to realize this isn’t a matter of a simple prank. But it’s only after she stops two particularly unlucky robbers from breaking and entering her apartment and _then_ running into a neighbor she’s pretty sure she’s never had any interactions with before but who was adamant his Christmas decorations were going to be so much better than hers that she texts the entire group. And that’s how she finds herself at Raven’s, struggling to maintain her cool.

“What do you _mean,_ ” she says slowly, through gritted teeth, “I’m being haunted by Christmas movies?”

Raven shrugs while Anya and Octavia are trying not to burst out laughing. “What you just said.”

  
“That,” Clarke utters with a surprisingly straight face, “has gotta be the most hilarious thing ever. Oh, come _on_ ,” she huffs when Lexa shoots her a look. “You’re literally living through all the Christmas classics. It’s cute and fluffy and adorable.” She pauses for a moment, thoughtful. “Which is everything you hate, so this is basically your nightmare. I guess it’s not that fun. For you, I mean.”

Before Lexa has a chance to bare her teeth, Raven speaks up again. “Uh, I didn’t say _classics._ I just said _movies._ Any Christmas movies are a fare game.”

“So…” Octavia starts, before her eyes widen. “Wait. _Die Hard_ is a Christmas movie.”

“As is _Black Christmas_. And _Krampus_. Don’t forget _Krampus_ ,” Anya adds. Suddenly no one is laughing anymore. Even Clarke bites her lip in concern. “Well. Fuck.”

“Eloquent as always,” Lexa deadpans, and turns to Raven. “Undo it,” she demands.

Raven, no doubt, has already listed about a dozen Christmas-themed horror flicks in her head, because she only utters _on it_ instead of her predictable snark and hurries to her bookshelf, Octavia and Anya in tow.

Lexa lets out a tired sigh and rubs at her temples. Her mind’s working quickly, trying to figure out who could possibly be behind this admittedly clever curse. None of the demons they ran into this month seemed the kind to pull something like that off. No, this is _intelligent_. Which makes it so much more dangerous.

“Hey.” Clarke’s soft voice startles her, and she scowls after she almost jumps at the sound. _What a slayer_ , she thinks sourly. “We’ll figure this out.”

“I know.” Her curt reply, however, doesn’t seem to placate the other slayer who’s still giving her a weird look of almost… compassion? She shrugs it off, standing up. “I’m gonna go to Murphey’s bar, ask around. Maybe someone’s seen something suspicious.”

Clarke’s immediately on her feet, too, and she looks incredulous, to say the least. “You’re gonna go to a _demon_ bar after we _just_ found out there’s a giant target on your back?”

_I can handle it_ is there, at the tip of her tongue, biting and cold, but she manages to stop just in time. As different as they are, Clarke’s right. She’s just… restless. She tells her as much.

“Yeah.” That, Clarke can agree with. “I just want to slay something. I’m buzzing with anger.”

That takes Lexa by surprise. Then again, this is slayer business. Clarke takes that seriously, at least.

* * *

They go through what seems to be an endless number of pages, and Raven calls several friends before they manage to figure out the type of the curse. Raven tells her, grimly, that she can’t exactly end it.

“It will wear off in a day, and I can limit the dangers,” she says before Lexa can implode. “So you won’t die and you won’t have to slay fucking _Krampus._ You _will_ be mildly inconvenienced till tomorrow.”

Lexa sighs. “Fine. That works. Tell me we can track down the person who did it.”

The witch only shakes her head. “I’m not sure,” she admits. “Now, sit still.”

* * *

All in all, it’s not so bad. The mysterious caster reveals herself and, to Lexa’s utter embarrassment, turns out to be a rather spiteful witch she had an affair with several years ago. Clarke won’t stop making the _woman scorned_ jokes the entire evening after Lexa manages to sort it out with her barely-ex. Which is the point she’s currently trying to make as Clarke and her sit on her couch and alternate between swigs of beer and candy cane bites.

“We never _dated,_ ” she grumbles. “And I explicitly _told_ her that. _And_ as soon as feelings became involved we had a long, honest talk and amicably split.”

“Why’d you split if you were never together?” Clarke asks, tongue-in-cheek and a candy cane pointed at Lexa, and she has to admit that she got her there. The blonde slayer looks proud of herself, and Lexa can’t bring herself to be grumpy about it. It’s not often she gets to see this side of Clarke. Goofy and relaxed and _young_ , instead of guarded and closed-off. If all it takes to get them to be if not friends then at least friendly acquaintances are Lexa’s romantic failures, she’ll download Tinder tomorrow.

“Alright,” Clarke chuckles, lightly, after a yet another dig. “Guess she didn’t’ get the memo that you don’t date.”

Lexa blinks. “I _do_ date,” she clarifies. “Well, not at the moment, but I do in general. I’m not… against the concept.”

“Huh,” Clarke says, then, and something in her eyes is both unreadable and alluring; enough for Lexa to blink away the slight haze of alcohol and think of leaning _in_. “The more you know.”

“Do you?” Lexa has to ask, of course, because why not push her luck on this already bizarre day. “Do you date?” she elaborates when Clarke tilts her head to the right, confused.

The blonde slayer wets her lips. “Not at the moment,” she replies, voice low, charged with energy Lexa’s afraid to misinterpret, “but I do in general.”

She dares to lean closer when Clarke speaks again. “I was worried about you, you know. Today. It wasn’t just a slayer thing to me. I want you to know that.”

“Do you read minds now?” Lexa murmurs, too surprised to cover it with sarcasm.

Blue eyes shine in the low light of her apartment. “No. I just pay attention. Maybe,” she lets out a quiet laugh. “Maybe I should’ve paid even more.”

Lexa doesn’t lean in more, but Clarke does end up staying, diffusing the sudden tension with an offer to watch a Christmas movie that Lexa tries to indignantly refuse but ends up caving anyway.

In the morning, she wakes to an empty apartment and a knock on the door, and she doesn’t even pretend to hide her smile when it’s Clarke standing on the other side. “Weren’t you just there on my couch?” She implores, leaning against her doorframe with a lopsided smirk.

Clarke grins. Lifts her finger up to her lips and then lifts a big card with _say it’s carol singers_ written on it in her infamously bad handwriting.

She feels like howling with laughter. “Seriously? _Love, Actually?_ Am I a joke to you?” Then, something occurs to her and her eyes widen. “Wait. Shit. The curse was supposed to be—”

“This isn’t the curse,” Clarke interrupts, still grinning. “And I did contemplate holding you hostage in an office building but that would’ve required a bit more effort and I don’t feel like we are at that stage yet.”

Now that is an eyebrow-raising sentence. “Oh? So there are stages?”

Clarke gives her a look. “Are you going to invite me in for breakfast that hopefully doesn’t include candy canes?”

She pushes off her doorframe and feels her smile widening as she retreats back into the apartment and to the kitchen. “I’m not _inviting_ you in – not with our line of work. But there _are_ eggs and some toast.”

(She does lean in later that afternoon, and Clarke tastes like laughter and strawberry jam.)

**Author's Note:**

> catch me at [my tumblr](http://geralehane.tumblr.com), i post stories and accept prompt for different pairing and link original content (and some easter eggs from all of my aus)


End file.
